Tidal
by CitiKitti
Summary: Touch can heal or at least, it can help. Set in season 1, after The Moth. Prequel to my story Fix.


Title: Tidal

Author: CitiKitti

Disclaimer: So not mine! cries

Summary: Touch can heal, or at least help. Jack/Charlie. Set after "The Moth" in season 1, so no spoilers.

Rating: MA.

Feedback is ever appreciated!

**Tidal**

He comes unhesitatingly to Jack in the dead of night, picking his way **amongst** the still, slumbering bodies, a slight and silent shape silhouetted by the light of the dying fire. He wonders if Jack is sleeping too, but no – there he sits, bare-chested, leaned up against the wall of the cave.

"I thought you'd come," Jack says, as Charlie settles in next to him. "How are you holding up?"

Charlie's hands are trembling, visibly, but he doesn't think Jack has noticed in the dim light. He wishes he had something – a drink, a cigarette, _anything_ – to stave off this awful broken-glass feeling. It's been over a week now since the withdrawal, but the cravings still surge in him, an ebb and flow as constant and as remorseless as the ocean.

"Fine," he says, and they both ignore the lie. "I'm holding up fine."

"Sure you are," says Jack. "Then why are you here?"

The first time, Charlie's kisses had been clumsy, unschooled, but Jack had been patient with him and Charlie had been eager to learn. This time he leans in with well-practiced ease, pressing a kiss to the corner of Jack's mouth.

"You know why," Charlie says. He turns so that he is facing Jack and throws one leg across the other man's lap so that he is straddling him. Unselfconsciously he rubs his groin against Jack's, grinning when he realizes that Jack is already hard.

"I still don't have anything stronger than aspirin for you," Jack says mildly. His voice is calm, still as the ocean at night, but his hands have reached up to tug at the waistband of Charlie's jeans, pulling him closer.

"_This_ helps," Charlie whispers, but the crooked smile wavers for an instant before he leans in, pressing his mouth hard against Jack's, reveling in the slipslide of tongue against tongue. His hands skate over Jack's bare chest, teasing his nipples into hard points, until Jack groans aloud into Charlie's mouth.

Jack pulls abruptly out of the kiss. "Grab that blanket," he gasps, motioning at a bundle of cloth nearby, and Charlie reaches over for it, throwing it about his shoulders so that they're both covered.

_All the important bits are covered, at least_, Charlie thinks, and deftly unbuttons the fly of Jack's jeans, tugging them down over his hips. Under his hand Jack's prick leaps like something alive, something begging to be touched.

The first time, Charlie hadn't understood how something as simple as touch could be so cathartic, until Jack had stilled the raging need in him with skilled surgeon's fingers and a questing tongue. After, Charlie hadn't said a word but quickly zipped up his jeans and made off into the night, searching out his own bundle of blankets and huddling into them, ashamed and exhilarated by turns. All the next day they'd not spoken of it, neither of them. But as the day wore into evening and finally into night, and the other castaways had gradually fallen off to sleep, Charlie had lain awake, wanting, craving, needing.

And when he at last he could stand it no longer, throwing off his tangled blankets and restlessly making his way to the back of the cave, Jack had been waiting for him.

"You need this too," Charlie murmurs, leaning down and sucking the head of Jack's cock into his mouth. It's slippery with precome, salty like the sea and Charlie laps voraciously at it, Jack's hands fisted into his hair. He licks at Jack with long, greedy swipes of his tongue, base to tip and down again, til Jack arches up towards Charlie's mouth with a strangled moan. It's empowering, having the doctor at the mercy of his tongue, but Charlie doesn't feel empowered. Instead he feels skittery with the incessant wax and wane of the cravings; with every surge of it he sucks Jack deeper into his mouth.

Jack whimpers, actually _whimpers_, and Charlie pulls back, Jack's cock slipping from his mouth with a moist _pop_. It's not enough, Charlie realises, leaning back and fumbling frantically with his belt. He needs more. It's good, it's all good, but he needs more. They both do.

"Stupid bloody _shite!"_ he mutters, finally yanking open the belt. Stupid, he thinks, wearing a belt here. As if it was even needed. As if anyone would notice. Sometimes it's like he could run starkers up and down the white stretch of beach, naked as the day he was born. But, Charlie thinks, _Jack_ would notice, and maybe have a word or two to say about it, too.

"Charlie?" Jack's voice, questioning, breaks Charlie from his reverie.

"Yeah," Charlie says, shimmying out of his jeans and shoving them off to one side. "Just… ah, nothing. My belt stuck."

"Did it now," Jack casually remarks. And then, with no warning, his hands are on Charlie, and his hands are so _warm_. Jack's always warm, the heat of those insistent fingers flowing into Charlie with every measured stroke.

"Take your shirt off too, Charlie," Jack says, and Charlie immediately complies. "Yeah. Much better."

It's funny, Charlie thinks, how Jack has to be in control all the time. Even now, when he needn't be, although Charlie is quite happy to let him. He wonders if Jack has ever relinquished control, and for whom.

"Turn over for me," Jack rasps. It's not an option. Charlie rocks forward onto his knees, uncomfortably aware of how utterly naked he is, the cool night air ghosting across his bottom. Behind him, there is a rustling sound as Jack pulls the blanket back over them both, followed by an odd, wet sort of sound that Charlie can't quite place. When Jack's hand, shockingly cold and slick, suddenly wraps around Charlie's cock, he has to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from yelping out loud. _Lotion,_ he thinks. _I think._

"What the bloody bollocks is that?" Charlie hisses, when he can talk again.

Jack chuckles into Charlie's shoulder. "Sunscreen. SPF 30, in case you're wondering. It's all I had handy."

"It's cold," Charlie protests half-heartedly, but it isn't now, and frankly one part of him is not protesting even a bit. A moment later he realises that's not the _only_ place where Jack has slathered sunscreen.

"Easy, Charlie," Jack whispers, easing into him. It's not the first time they've done this, and by now Charlie knows exactly how Jack likes him to move. Slow, so torturously slow at first. But Jack's hand, so cool and slick upon his cock, is so mind-numbingly good that Charlie can't help but try to quicken the pace. He can't help it; he's never been the patient sort.

It's too good, Charlie thinks, a small moan escaping him as he thrusts against Jack's palm. Immediately Jack's other hand claps over his mouth, firm against Charlie's lips. And oh fuck, Jack moves his hips a little faster – but only a little. It's enough for Charlie; he can't last with Jack wrapped around him and in him and in no time he's over the edge, his inarticulate groan muffled by Jack's hand as he comes, every muscle taut.

"Easy, I said," Jack mutters. "Easy. Don't… Not so… Ah, fuck, Charlie -" He thrusts once, twice, three times, so forcefully that Charlie's shoulder rubs painfully against the rough boulder next to them. In the morning Charlie won't meet Jack's eyes as the scrape is treated, but for now the pain doesn't really register with him in the same way as Jack's body draped heavily over him does.

Slowly, ever slowly, Jack pulls out, and Charlie almost manages not to wince. He's sticky, sore, tired and uncomfortable – and for a few brief and blessed moments, utterly at peace.

"You ok?" Jack asks.

Charlie clambers awkwardly into his jeans, pleasantly sore in all the right places. "Yeah," he says. He wonders briefly if the sunscreen is going to stain. "I'm good."

Jack snorts. "Modest, too."

Not for the first time, Charlie's grateful for the darkness, for it means Jack won't see the sudden flush in his cheeks. "I didn't mean…"

"Relax," Jack says. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah," Charlie says softly, and thinks that maybe, finally, he might be able to do just that.


End file.
